


The Rest is Gravy

by AwkwardOctopus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Burnplay, Cigars, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Praise Kink, Service Submission, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:17:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7460925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardOctopus/pseuds/AwkwardOctopus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse loves his cigarillos as much as the next guy, but there's nothing quite like a nice cigar. Oh, and a nice submissive man to prepare them for him, but whose keeping track?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rest is Gravy

Normally, Hanzo chose to do his meditating out-of-doors, if he could help it. The solitude he could manage somewhere on the grounds of the compound tended to be a more complete solitude than he found in his own room, and it was nice to allow the power of the elements to soothe him into his contemplative state. This, however, he couldn’t image anywhere but this room. It smelled of stale cigarillo smoke, sweat, whisky, of gunpowder and gun oil. Overhead, he could hear the swish of the ceiling fan, and further away the central exhaust system whirred. He couldn’t hear McCree, because he wasn’t here or because he didn’t want to be heard, it mattered little. He couldn’t see him, or anything else, from beneath the heavy cloth blindfold tied around his head. 

He was poised on his knees in seiza position, prosthetic feet and legs tucked beneath his body, back straight and relaxed. His hands rested palm up on his thighs, open and accepting. He’d been here, still as a statue, for some time now. He didn’t know how long, exactly, only that it was exactly as long as he needed to be. 

When he’d come to this room, he’d carefully begun the ritual of disrobing from his normal training gear, leaving his bow near the door on the far side of the room. He’d undone the sash from his hair and run his fingers through it, then carefully plaited it so it hung down between his shoulder blades. He’d used a cloth and wiped himself clean, removing dirt and sweat, and with it, the worries of the world. When that was done, he’d removed a small cedar box from the chest at the foot of the bed and placed it on the table. 

The box was delicate but not expensive, carved from scrap planks of cedar wood with a scene from the American West. Hanzo didn’t recognize any of the figures on the box, but he suspected McCree did, though the cowboy had never elaborated and he’d never asked. The box itself wasn’t large, less than a foot on each side and only three or four inches deep. The fragrance of cedar wafted up to him when he removed the lid, and he closed his eyes to savor it for a moment before putting the lid aside. Inside, several cigars were wrapped in their thin plastic casing, and along one side supplies were lined up. Methodically, Hanzo removed the tools from the box; A plastic square with a thumb sized hole in the center, a small lighter with a dial for fuel ratio adjustment, a tiny dish that looked impeccably clean, and an assortment of other items for the care and keeping of cigars. 

Never speeding up or rushing, the archer took his time choosing a cigar from the box. Then, he carefully cut the plastic away until only the cigar and it’s wrapper were left. He slid off the thin paper certifying the cigar as genuine, and set it aside carefully in case McCree wanted to see it. Next, he raised the end of the cigar to his lips and licked carefully, delicately around the end. He’d done this before, with McCree looking down at him and telling him in that decadent drawl exactly what to do. _“There you go, get it nice a damp with those pretty lips of yours.”_ He’d growled, metal hand holding the cigar while the other cupped Hanzo’s cheek, encouraging him to lap lewdly at the tobacco.

This time, Hanzo was efficient, though the memory did cause him to flush a little. He hadn’t thought much about cigars before McCree, other than as an occasional indulgence at a business meeting of his father’s, or perhaps as a vice to exploit in others. But Jesse had this thing with them, and once Hanzo had seen what it did to him to have that thing indulged, _he’d_ developed a thing for them, too. Now, just seeing him exhale out cigarillo smoke while they trained was enough to evoke naughty flashes of heat, something the cowboy found endlessly entertaining. Still, it was easy to brush away that thought while he’d prepared this cigar for McCree. Once it was done and everything was laid out perfectly, he’d set himself down on the large pillow situated to be within reach of the chair at the table. The soft cloth of the blindfold was also in the chest, and he tied it around his eyes with the same attention to detail he’d shown for the rest of the tasks given to him. From then, there was nothing to do but wait.

Which was how he found this place, this space in his own mind. Meditation allowed him to empty his mind, to find truth in absence, to calm himself and his soul with quiet and discipline and concentration. This place he found with Jesse, in it, he was never alone. Instead of absence, this place was full to the brim. When in the depths of it, he was floating, cut loose from the world, supported by McCree and tethered back to reality by him. It was terrifying, and it was bliss. 

Eventually, the door opened and there was a slight pause before it clicked shut again. Hanzo tried hard not to think, but he still put together that it must be McCree whom had entered. He worked his jaw silently to prevent himself from saying anything, from moving. He could feel the air in the room shift as the cowboy entered it, hear the clank as he sat himself down in the chair behind where Hanzo sat. He’d been expecting to hear the supplies on the table shift as McCree lit his cigar, so the warm glove clapping down on his shoulder nearly made him jump out of his skin. The warm chuckle let him know that McCree hadn’t missed it, and it made his face burn. 

“Awwww, are you a little bit worked up? Been waitin’ here for me, everything all ready exactly as I like it…” He stood and circled Hanzo, and the archer had the distinct feeling of being _looked_ at, despite the blindfold. Examined. It was as if McCree’s gaze had physical presence that could touch him, push him in one direction or another. It took concentration not to sway to and fro, eager to move, eager to serve. However, He said nothing. He hadn’t been asked a question, not really. Once he’d surveyed his obedient lover, the cowboy sat himself down in the chair once again and turned it with a squeal of wood on wood to face the bed and Hanzo.

“Stand up, sweetheart. Ah, that’s it. Step forward, one step.” He took the pillow from where it had been and moved it so it was between McCree’s legs at the table, then bodily turned Hanzo so his toes felt the pillow. “And now back down.” He offered a guiding hand on his shoulder as he went, watching carefully for signs his legs were not holding up. When this had all begun, he’d offered other solutions to Hanzo than the suiza position, but the man would hear nothing of it. So, Jesse simply kept an eye out and waited to hear the word that meant this was too much, too uncomfortable. They had jobs to do, after all. It never came, and Hanzo never complained afterwards. Perhaps they didn’t ache like his arm did, but McCree rather thought he simply suffered in silence. It seemed likely that Hanzo did a lot of that, if the way he spoke of his past had any bearing on his present. 

Deciding that his train of thought was far too dour for the occasion, Jesse smiled and reached out a hand to trace along Hanzo’s cheek, down his neck. He looked gorgeous like this, naked and submissive, so ready for McCree’s instruction, for his power. And the cigars, well, the cigars were just gravy. Really, really nice gravy. The kind of gravy grandmothers steal from the other grandmother’s recipe books and guard jealously. 

Leaning over, McCree picked up the cigar and looked it over. The end had been wet- and wasn’t that a pretty image his mind conjured up, the archer’s lips wrapped provocatively around the phallic shape- and cut, ready to light. The lighter was exactly where he reached for it. Hanzo was, predictably, very good at following instructions. 

He snapped his thumb along the lighter and it flared to life, the snap causing Hanzo to shift a little, almost startled. It made McCree want to grin again, and he would have if not for the puffing required to properly start his cigar. Perhaps sometime he’d teach Hanzo how he wanted that done too, and have him start it off completely. Nothing quite like being handed a cigar so perfect all you had to do was draw. For this one, though, it was well done even without being lit, and when he pulled off, it was with a content sigh. 

“I must be the luckiest man in the world, ain’t I?” He murmured, before taking a drag on the cigar again. This one he carefully exhaled toward Hanzo, who seemed to almost vibrate in his stationary position at the act. “Perfect cigar, perfect seat, perfect view…” He leaned back and pushed his booted foot forward until it slid between the kneeling man’s thighs. With his metal hand he traced the outline of Hanzo’s lips until they parted beneath the fingers. Then, he slipped them inside. Hanzo began sucking at them without prompting, and McCree had to shift his hips at the way that made his dick jerk. 

“Go ahead, rut against my boot. You have permission.” As if that was all he’d been waiting for, the dark haired man bucked his hips down and forward, grinding his hardening cock against the flat top of the leather boot. The cool metal of Jesse’s fingers between his lips was almost dizzying as it warmed, first to lukewarm, then hotter and hotter as it stored up the heat from inside his mouth. When they’re finally pulled away, Hanzo whined quietly at the loss, thinking of nothing except the way those fingers seem to leach his thoughts away, and the leg between his legs applying firm pressure to his dick. 

“Look at you, with your lips all red and swollen and wet. I bet you’d like something to suck on, wouldn’tya? Maybe I should just have you suck my cock while I finish this cigar…” With the blindfold on, he couldn’t read Hanzo’s eyes, but the sudden intake of breath and stuttering hips spoke volumes, and McCree smirked. Taking a puff of the tobacco, he cupped Hanzo’s face and blew smoke directly at him again, the damp warmth of his breath mixing with the cloying, sweet smell of the cigar for a heady combination. It left the archer with that rocking, lost-at-sea feeling that he craved. He hadn’t made any sounds, but there must have been something on his face, because McCree cursed and tightened his fingers until the places where they gripped his jaw hurt. Hanzo found he didn’t mind in the least. 

“Fuck, Hanzo. Hands up.” At the command, Hanzo raised his hands cupped together, like he was waiting for an offering. And in a way, he was. McCree carefully ashed into the raised palms, and the resulting flinch in the archer was not subtle. With a rush of air, the gunslinger stood and bit his cigar long enough to fumble with his gun belt, with his pants. After they’re undone, he pushed them down and freed his cock, already hard and ready from Hanzo’s show of submission. He took a second to observe the man before him. His long, dark hair is braided down his neck, exposing his pale neck and strong shoulders. He’s naked, and the lines from his tattoo look more wild without the frame of clothing to contain them. His face is partially covered by the blindfold, but what’s still revealed is blushing, open, vulnerable. 

He is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing McCree has ever touched. He tries not to imagine leaving sooty black handprints all over him every place that he’s touched. 

“Open your mouth.” He’s fallen out of his joking, laughing demeanor, and his accent has shallowed into the barest hints of a drawl. There’s heat behind his words now, an edge that wasn’t there before. It is the answering howl to Hanzo’s submissive baying, and where Hanzo fell into the space with ritual, with sensation and smell and sound, McCree found his space by protecting Hanzo. Here, in this place, he had the power. Moreso, he felt the trust in what Hanzo was allowing him to do. It was an intoxicating feeling, one he didn’t normally seek out. But between them, this was perfect. As if illustrating how perfect, Hanzo’s lips parted and he opened them wide, waiting for the next command. 

Staring into that pink mouth, McCree softly cursed again before puffing on the cigar once more. This was, admittedly, not the most efficient way to enjoy a cigar. However, Jesse couldn’t image a way he’d prefer, not when his lover was still rutting like an animal against his boot and opening his mouth like it was the only thing he would ever think of doing. He ashed into Hanzo’s still open hands, then slid his cock between those pretty swollen lips. The reaction from below was almost instantaneous. Hanzo’s hands trembled a little where he held the warm ash, and his mouth sucked eagerly at the flesh in his mouth, like he was devouring it, like he couldn’t get enough. 

Without the use of his hands, it wasn’t the greatest blow job that the archer had ever given, but McCree seemed to enjoy it well enough, if his grunts and groans were any indication. The man’s mechanical hand now held the cigar, while the leather of the other glove cupped the back of Hanzo’s head, pulling him in, guiding him the way that McCree wanted. With each forward thrust of his hips, the cowboy slid further into the impossible heat of that decadent mouth, and he could feel spit run down the other man’s chin. When he pulled off to ash again, he got a good look at how utterly destroyed the other man was. He panted, sculpted chest heaving with effort, lips still hanging open, ready. His chin and neck were shiny and damp, and his beautiful hands cupped around the ash. Between his legs, his cock was fully hard, and his hips swiveled up and down in an attempt to get more friction from the boot below him. 

Grabbing the glass dish from the table, McCree leaned down and pressed the cool glass against one side of Hanzo’s hands, so he’d know what Jesse was trying to do. “Here you go sweetheart, got something better for you to do with your hands.” He tried to stay in character, but the grin slipped into his voice and betrayed his excitement. Tilting Hanzo’s hands forward, he let the ash fall into the glass with a small ‘pat’ before setting the now stumpy cigar down in it. He’d use it later, but for now, he had something better to do, too. With some shuffling, he arranged Hanzo face down on the bed, leaning forward from his back hips with his chest propped on a pillow. When McCree’s fingers untied the blindfold, he blinked his eyes open with a minimal amount of grumbling. 

“I know, I know. But I only got the one scarf, and I needta use it for somethin’.” McCree teased, but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he reached out and looped the fabric around the smaller man’s wrists once, twice, then crossed in the middle and tied off. He didn’t know too many knots, but a pair of cuffs he could do. The tails of the tie made it easy to loop it under the bed frame, creating a simple method of keeping Hanzo restrained like this. As if like clockwork, Hanzo pulled back on the restraints lightly, then a little harder, then a little harder still. He liked feeling the bite of the cloth, liked knowing he couldn’t pull out just by trying. 

With that done, McCree grabbed the dish with his cigar and set it on the night stand. From the drawer there, he removed the lube, letting it sit on the table as well. Everything prepped, McCree reached between the other man’s legs and touched softly along the space between his balls and hole, just lightly, almost a feather touch. Up, then back down, never more than the ghost of a dry fingertip, never anywhere else. It took only moments for Hanzo to rock back and huff his annoyance, still under but not as looped out anymore. That’s what Jesse wanted, and he grinned at the success. 

He took another breath from his cigar, savoring the flavor and the weight of the smoke in his mouth, blew it out in a gentle roll over Hanzo’s back, enjoying the visual of it curling around the other man’s shoulder. It seemed to light him on fire again, and he trembled against the might of that one, light, teasing touch. “How’s that? You look so fuckin’ good like this, all trembling and hot. You’d look better with a little decoration on this pretty skin of yours though. Do ya’ want more?” He taunted, reaching for the lube. For the first time since he’d set foot in the room, he got a response from the normally stoic archer. 

_“Yes, please. I want more, please.”_ The amount of emotion pressed into those words stole the breath right from McCree’s lungs, and he didn’t bother trying to hide the following intake of breath. With all their games and playing, Hanzo was still rarely vocal about what he wanted, preferring instead to show with his body what he liked. When he did speak, McCree always found himself overwhelmed with the trust and meaning behind the words. And to hear him _beg_. Oh, it did things to Jesse to hear that. 

With his warm hand, now freed from it’s glove, he lubed up and wasted no time wrapping around Hanzo’s dick. As if he hadn’t been prepared for it, Hanzo keened and bucked his hips forward, only to be jerked and held in place by the cowboy’s other arm. They kept up like that, Jesse wringing pleasured cries from Hanzo’s lips, until Jesse worked him into a frenzy. He wouldn’t cum though, not yet. Picking up the cigar, Jesse took a long pull and leaned over, close to the other man’s face. “Kiss me…” He sighed, and the smoke curled between them before Hanzo’s lips pushed up towards his. The angle was awkward, and the smoke made it more difficult to kiss than usual, but none of that mattered. It was perfect, and it was the perfect distraction. 

With his lips on McCree’s and his cock in gunslinger’s hand, he wasn’t prepared for the flare of white hot burn on his left hip. He pulled off with a yelp, and Jesse laughed as he kept pumping his hand, the cigar snuffed into an ashen blemish on his skin. It ached, and it marked him, the little circle of agony wringing through his nerves and setting him on fire, while also setting him adrift on that sea only McCree could sail him to. He came, somewhere in there, but it was almost an afterthought. Hanzo slumped when his body stopped tensing, muscles previously held at attention no longer willing to cooperate. 

McCree was quick to untie him, sliding his body forward so he could lay flat on the bed. Ash tray and lube were set aside in favor of the cloth Hanzo had used earlier, now rinsed in cool water and wiping him over again. McCree paid special attention to the burn, making sure it wouldn’t become infected, or need extra medical attention. When that was done, he stripped himself more quickly than neatly. Then, he laid down next to his lover and watched. 

Hanzo, when he was like this, was something else. So at peace, so affectionate and loving. He curled toward Jesse to lay his head on his chest, face pressing up to get more skin contact. His arm wound around McCree’s middle section, drawing him closer. With a low chuckle, he sighed and let Hanzo cling to him. Later, they would go back to being lovers, to being friends, teammates, confidants. For right now, all this? This was gravy.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for Overwatch and this pairing, and my first ever AO3 fic! Please feel free to offer constructive criticism in the comments, or just let me know what you thought! Oh, and Kudos if you liked it, please!


End file.
